


When You Call

by LadyWallace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BAMF Castiel, Buried Alive, Cas holds things together, Cas is a Guardian Angel, Cas is a badass, Castiel To The Rescue, Defiant Dean, Defiant Sam, Family Feels, Gen, Hunters working for Zachairah, Hurt Sam, Hurt/traumatized Dean, Kidnapped Sam & Dean, Panic Attacks, Some divergence, Suspence, Team Free Will, Tortured Dean, Tortured Sam, Whump, apocalypse agendas, everyone gets whumped, hospitalized Sam & Dean, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, Castiel finds Sam in the hospital, but Dean is still missing. Piecing together what Sam can remember, Cas goes off to find Dean before it’s too late, and uncovers a plot that might make the whole situation more complicated. Hurt!Sam Hurt!Dean ProtectiveBAMF!Cas Set Season 5. Gen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Flashbacks are in italics, everything else is the present, but it's easy to figure out ^_^

Castiel didn't think he would ever get used to hospitals. The pure amount of human emotions packed inside, pain, grief, hopelessness, even anger and futility—it was all so much to handle. Even more so now in his fallen state that only intensified the way he could feel and relate to the humanity surrounding him. And it was a painful taunt, all their emotions and suffering, now that he no longer had the ability to heal them even if he wanted to.

But even more distressing was seeing Sam and Dean, the two humans who had been his charges, and were now his friends, when they were hurting and he couldn't do a thing about it. And Sam was hurting now, a lot, in more ways than one, and Castiel had neither the power to heal his body nor the skill with words to heal his non-physical ailments. Castiel was certainly not Dean, and that was enough to make him unqualified.

He had been surprised and wary to receive the call from the hospital, telling him that there was a Sam Winchester there who had been brought in after being found collapsed on a forest highway by a passing driver. Sam had been taken to surgery for his injuries and Castiel had been told he was listed as an emergency contact. What worried the angel most was that he knew Dean was also listed, and the fact Dean had not been reached first could only mean something bad had happened.

The last thing Castiel had heard was that Sam and Dean had been going on some hunt in Wyoming. He would have gone too, but he thought he might be more use elsewhere, trying to track down information on what the angels were planning and where and when the other two Horsemen might show up. Now he wished he had gone with them, because something must have gone horribly wrong for Sam to end up in the hospital with such grievous injuries, and for Dean to be missing.

Because he had to be missing. Castiel knew there was no other explanation for why Dean wasn't there with his brother.

He got to the hospital and asked the kind woman at the reception desk about Sam Winchester. He was told Sam was still in surgery and was escorted to a waiting room with several other anxious people, and offered a cup of coffee, which he took because that was what people did. Then he sat down and tried to call Dean a dozen times on his cell phone but only got the voice message.

He was going to call Bobby Singer, but decided to at least wait until he knew what state Sam was in after the surgery, because that would be the first thing Bobby would ask. There was no point in worrying the hunter if he couldn't answer any of his questions, and Bobby couldn't exactly make it to the hospital in his current paralyzed condition. Another ailment Castiel couldn't fix.

It was almost two hours that he sat there, gazing into the dark coffee in the cup that he had barely drank from as it got as icy cold as the room. Finally another figure entered the waiting room and walked over to him.

"Sir?"

Castiel looked up to see a blond woman in scrubs standing beside his chair. He stood up instantly.

"Are you…Castiel?" she inquired, checking a clipboard, seeming slightly confused by his name. Castiel didn't care at the moment.

"Yes, do you know how Sam is doing?" the angel asked, surprised by the anxiety in his voice. The human emotions he was feeling were only getting worse by the day, telling of his falling nature.

"He just woke up—his surgery went without complications, but he was rather distressed when he woke, so we had to administer a sedative. He kept asking for his brother." She looked sympathetic. "It's not uncommon for patients who undergo anesthesia to be delirious when they come to. They're just getting him situated in a room now, and you can go sit with him if you want. It might help him to see a familiar face when he wakes up again."

"Yes, of course," Castiel nodded and followed her to the elevator where they went down a couple floors and walked down a sterile white hallway to a room at the end of the hall.

Castiel followed her inside and frowned in anguish as he saw the younger Winchester brother lying there in the bed, as the nurses hooked him up to monitors and IVs, adjusting a blanket over his lower body.

"He'll probably be coming around in another hour or so," the nurse told Castiel as she motioned to a chair for him to sit in.

"Thank you," Castiel said and watched as the other doctors vacated the room. Castiel finally took stock of Sam's condition. His face was pale and bruised, and his whole body had a thin, starved look. His left arm was in a cast, propped up at his side and his breathing hitched as if it pained him.

Castiel turned to the nurse who was scribbling something on her clipboard. "What happened to him?"

"We're guessing he was the victim of a hit and run, but that's only because he was found on the side of the road. It's just as possible that he had some kind of accident out in the woods. He was severely dehydrated when we found him and that doesn't really fit with a hit and run although the blunt force trauma to his arm and torso do. Do you know if he was out hiking or something?"

"It's possible he was…hunting," Castiel informed her.

She nodded. "Either way, it was lucky that couple saw him. Not a lot of traffic on that road. He suffered multiple fractures to his arm—that's why he needed the surgery—and several cracked ribs as well as evidence of blunt force trauma elsewhere. We don't think he has any internal damage but we're monitoring him carefully. He's also concussed pretty badly. He's definitely going to be sore for a while."

Castiel nodded. "It would appear so."

"Well, I've got some things I need to see to, just press the call button if he needs anything."

"Thank you," Castiel told her as he finally sat down next to Sam. He reached out to put a hand on the hunter's forehead, wishing he could push a little grace into his body to heal him, but his powers wouldn't obey him. It was so hard, seeing the lines of pain creasing Sam's face, and knowing he could do nothing.

He sat for a while, just watching over the young hunter, until there was a change in Sam's breathing pattern and he stirred slightly, his breath hitching at the pain the movement caused and his face scrunching in discomfort before his eyes blinked open.

"Sam," Castiel called gently, leaning forward in his chair as Sam's eyes roved toward him, blinking several times.

"Cas?" he asked, seeming confused. He looked around the room, getting only more distressed. "Dean? Where's Dean?"

Castiel reached out and gripped his forearm in an attempt to calm him. "He's not here, Sam, you need to calm down or you'll hurt yourself."

"He was right behind me," Sam insisted, still looking around. "He was right behind me…he has to be here!" The monitor he was hooked to started beeping more rapidly, and Castiel stood to press Sam back onto the bed, trying to calm him.

"Sam, please, if you don't calm down, they'll sedate you again."

Sam fought to get his breathing under control, seeming to see Castiel was right, and while he calmed down, Castiel reached for the side table and poured water from a pitcher into a small paper cup.

"Drink this," he said. "The doctor told me you were dehydrated." He helped hold the cup to Sam's lips, his other hand slipping behind the hunter's head to raise it. Sam sipped slowly, before nodding to Castiel that he was done. Sam licked his lips, seeming a bit refreshed by the drink as he turned weary hazel eyes up to the angel as Castiel sat down again.

"Can you tell me what happened, Sam?" Castiel asked gently. "I may be able to find Dean if you can tell me what happened to you. Did you get injured on your hunt?"

Sam closed his eyes and sighed wearily, shaking his head. "No, no we finished the hunt…two werewolves, but that was easy enough…oh God," his body shuddered, and he reached out to grip Castiel's sleeve, his eyes full of panic. "He was right behind me, Cas! Why isn't he here?"

Castiel gripped Sam's wrist in reassurance, pained by the anguish emanated from Sam, the need to find out what happened to his brother.

"Sam, can you try to start from the beginning?" he asked gently.

Sam swallowed hard, trying to gather himself, before he finally said, "We—we were just eating dinner at the bar…"

~~~~~~~~

_Sam picked tiredly at his chicken salad as he watched his brother hustling pool on the other side of the crowded bar. Normally he would have been over there with him, but the loud music and raucous atmosphere was giving him a headache. It had only been three weeks since the hunt that had led them to Famine, and his subsequent detox from drinking demon blood. It hadn't exactly been worse the second time around, but it hadn't been easier either. No, the worst part was knowing he had failed Dean. Again. After he had promised he would never go that rout again. And yeah, he could blame Famine's influence—even Cas had been affected—but deep down, he would always know it was because he had craved the demon blood in the first place. The look on Dean's face when he saw what Sam had done was going to haunt the younger man forever. The pure disappointment was almost enough to break Sam's heart all together. He had wanted so much for them to go back to how they were, and this was just another step backwards. Or more like a tumble down a cliff._

_Sam watched Dean wrap up the game, grinning cheekily at the two guys he had just rooked out of several hundred bucks, saying they would have better luck next time. Sam quickly shoveled in several more bites of food even though he wasn't hungry at all, just because he was even less enthusiastic about Dean's lecturing if he saw he hadn't eaten. Sam had lost weight since the last detox since he had spent almost a week unable to keep anything but saltines in his stomach, and it was fair that Dean was worried, his older brother was a grade A mother hen, but that didn't make it any less annoying._

_"Check it out, enough money to pay for dinner and the room tonight," Dean told him as he sat across from Sam and threw several bills on the table for the dinner and a tip. He frowned as he saw Sam massaging the bridge of his nose again. "You okay?"_

_"Just a headache. I'm pretty tired," Sam assured him._

_Dean eyed him thoroughly to make sure he wasn't lying. "We'll get you off to bed soon enough, sleeping beauty. Why don't we call it a night? There was that motel down the road."_

_"Sounds good," Sam agreed and gathered up his stuff—a local paper and their dad's journal—before he followed Dean out._

_"Hold on, gotta hit the head first," his brother said, making a detour._

_Sam sighed and leaned against the wall to wait for him, watching the bar patrons from under half-closed eyes. It was then that three men sitting in the back caught his eye. Unlike the rest of the crowd, they looked rough, not to mention completely sober. And they seemed to be watching him._

_Sam frowned, straightening up, and instinctively checking the gun in his waistband. They weren't the guys Dean had hustled, those two had left already, so who were these men to give him the stink eye? And they definitely had a familiar bearing about them. Almost as if…_

_"Hey, sleepyhead, let's get you out of here before you turn into a pumpkin."_

_Sam was startled by Dean's reappearance beside him, jumping slightly._

_"Sam, you good?" Dean asked him, frowning at his brother's reaction._

_Sam shook his head, and leaned close to Dean as he steered him toward the door. "Those guys in the back corner, you think they're watching us?"_

_Dean made a quick glance over his shoulder. "You mean the three guys who just got up and are starting to tail us?"_

_Sam chanced a look, and saw Dean was right and the two sped up, only to see the three men exit the other door of the bar and head out into the night. Dean watched them, but breathed out a sigh, chuckling._

_"Paranoid much, Sammy?"_

_"What, you thought they were following us too," Sam protested with a grunt as he followed Dean out the door as his brother fished in his pocket for the car keys._

_"Yeah, well, you can never be too careful," Dean shrugged as he dropped his keys with a curse and bent to pick them up._

_That was all the distraction the three men needed._

_"Well, well, well, fancy seeing you boys here."_

_Sam didn't get a chance to turn around before something slammed into the back of his skull and dropped him flat on the pavement. He tried to push himself up as he heard Dean yelling, followed by the dull thuds of punches being thrown, before something he suspected was a boot pressed into his back and shoved him flat again._

_"Stay down if you know what's good for you, boy. We got some business with ya."_

_And that was the last thing Sam remembered before there was a burst of light as he was hit over the head again, this time succumbing to the darkness._

~~~~~~~~

Castiel frowned as he listened to Sam's story. The young man had stopped, his good hand fisting in the blankets bunched at his waist as he swallowed hard at the memory.

"Is that how you were injured?" Castiel asked as gently as possible, wanting to know what happened but not wanting to press the young man too much in his obviously somewhat fragile state. "These men attacked you?"

Sam shook his head quickly and then winced in regret as the motion made his concussed skull pound. "No." He looked up at Castiel with haunted eyes and the angel's stomach twisted in anxiety for what he was about to hear. "That was—that was just the beginning. The worst came after that…"

~~~~~~~~

Dean fluttered back to consciousness in patches. Everything ached, and he wasn't exactly sure where he was, but he felt like he was moving. Something scraped along his back, and he could feel his bare feet dragging along the ground, getting even more torn up than they already had been. He moaned, trying to shift to see where he was, and through his blurry vision, caught sight of trees and forest covering, and two pairs of boots bobbing back and forth on either side of his head as two men, one holding a wrist each, dragged Dean through the forest.

Flashes of memory assaulted him, getting taken from the bar parking lot, trussed up in a dark place, beaten, the endless coaxing. Taking a chance to escape their bonds when they men, hunters—their own kind—had gone out for a while. Running through the woods, grabbing Sam as he stumbled and yanking him along despite his brother's injuries. The gunshot…

That last memory made pain flare up in Dean's leg as he was dragged over a rock none-too-gently. He hissed and flicked his eyes down to his left thigh where a bullet had lodged a few inches above his knee. The leg of his jeans was soaked red, and he knew he was lucky the bullet hadn't hit an artery otherwise he would be dead.

But wait, if he was being dragged back toward the cabin, where was Sam?

Dean frantically cast his eyes around, trying to see if Sam was being carted back too, by the other man, but he wasn't anywhere. Hope surged through Dean, thinking maybe his brother had gotten away. But it was just as likely the he could be lying dead out in the woods. Dean only remembered the one gun shot, as he and Sam nearly made it to the road, remembered shoving Sam forward down the hill that led to the highway running through the mountains, wincing at the thought of it only doing more damage but if Sam was out of sight of the hunters, then a few more bruises and injuries were worth it. But they could have caught Sam after taking Dean out and he would have been none the wiser. Then he guessed he must have fallen and hit his head because he couldn't remember anything after that.

"S'mmy," he moaned, eyes still looking left and right as he was dumped at the door to the cabin again. There was the sound of a door creaking open and footsteps on the wooden porch.

"You find him?" a gruff voice asked.

"Yep, almost to the road, little bastard was trying to escape." A boot thumped into Dean's already bruised ribs, making him curl into himself.

"What about Sam?"

"No sign," the third man growled.

The one standing in the door to the cabin cursed viciously, then strode forward before he crouched down, obscuring Dean's view. But Dean didn't care. He didn't even care that he had been captured again, because they didn't have Sam, and they hadn't killed him either, and that was all he needed to know.

"It doesn't change anything, Dean. I'm still gonna get what I want out of you; I got a lot riding on your compliance. And there ain't nothin' you can do about it; can't run on that leg."

Dean mustered a grin. "Don't matter. Sammy's gone, you can't hurt him anymore. You think I care what you do to me now?"

"Son, I think you underestimate me and the lengths I'm willing to go here," the man said sincerely as he stood again and nodded to the other hunters. "Take him inside and stop that bleeding. It would be a shame for him to die on us now."

They dragged Dean the rest of the way into the cabin and threw him down beside the fire. Dean felt the warmth seep into his body, and started shivering, not having realized before how cold he was. Maybe that was from the blood loss though.

He hissed in protest as one of the hunters took out a knife and cut his jeans up to the point of the bullet wound and prodded the spot. Dean cursed and jerked weakly, trying to get away, but one of the other hunters came and knelt, patting his shoulder roughly before pressing him back to the floor.

"Got to get the bullet out, son. Don't worry, it will be back to business soon enough." He rolled up a filthy rag and shoved it between Dean's teeth before nodding to the other man.

Dean felt someone holding his leg down before the third hunter advanced with a pair of forceps.

"Hold him," he commanded his partners as he crouched and grasped Dean's knee before unceremoniously digging the pincers into the bullet wound.

Dean screamed past the gag, his whole body stiffening instinctively, but the men held him down, and to the hunter's credit, he was quick about it, though it didn't seem the bullet was too deep either.

Through a haze of pain, Dean heard the clank of the bullet on the hearth and then something wet and agonizing was poured over his leg, making him scream again.

"A little something to clean it out," the man said, settling a bottle of whisky onto the floor. Dean would rather have drunk it. He was barely conscious by now, trembling in shock and listening to the mumbling voices that were discussing something around him.

"Still bleeding a lot. He might just pop stitches."

"Just get it closed."

Dean's eyes fluttered open as he heard them stoking the fire and watched as they pulled the red-hot poker out. He knew instantly what they had planned and he began to struggle with all the strength he had left.

"N-no," he tried past the gag between his teeth but he was just slammed against the floor again, too weak to put up much of a protest.

He felt the sizzle of the heat as it first touched his skin, snapping and hissing at the remnants of the whisky, then the smell of burning flesh. His flesh. And then agony like he hadn't felt since he had been in Hell, before he surrendered to the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel helped Sam drink a little more water as his voice started to sound hoarse. The angel knew Sam probably shouldn't be trying to talk this much so soon, that he should allow the doctors to give him pain medicine that would put him to sleep and give him the rest he needed, but he also knew the Winchesters well enough to realize Sam wouldn't even think of sleeping until he knew someone was out there looking for Dean. And that someone was going to be Castiel as soon as he heard the story.

Sam rested a moment after he had gulped the water, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths as he regained his thoughts. "I should have known there would be more of them."

Castiel frowned, not really following. "More of whom, Sam?"

The hunter shook his head slightly, realizing he wasn't making much sense. "Sorry, I'm still a little out of it. So, you know how when Dean and I split up for a few weeks a while back?"

"Yes, I remember," Castiel said, remembering how he and Dean had worked together to find Raphael, and the sadness in the elder brother at Sam's absence which had been plain no matter how many times Dean tried to deny it.

"Well, while I was trying to lay low, these three hunters came into town to take care of the problems going on—that I refused to take part in," Sam swallowed with a guilty expression. "Anyway, when they were attacked by demons, this one demon told them about…how I started the apocalypse and how I was a freak who drank demon blood. And they tried to make me drink some so that they could use me as a weapon against the demons."

Horror washed over Castiel at this revelation. "Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Sam smiled wryly. "No one did, I never told Dean either. Now I kind of wish I had."

"Was it these hunters who attacked you?" Castiel asked, anger flooding his veins as he saw the pain and frustration in Sam's features.

"Not them, but they were just like them. And I guess word must have gone around the hunter community," Sam said quietly, staring at the ceiling as if seeing the scenes playing over and over in his head. "Except these hunters weren't messing around and they had gotten more information than we bargained for…"

~~~~~~~~

_Sam woke with a gasp as a jolt of icy coldness crashed over him. He flinched and tried to move away from it, but could only flop onto one side, coughing as freezing water dripped into his mouth. He could hear indignant sputtering and Dean's familiar curses at his back and knew he had gotten the same treatment. It took him a minute to remember what had happened to lead up to this moment, but then memory flooded back of him and Dean exiting the bar and getting jumped by those three men who had been watching them._

_"Rise and shine, boys," one of their captors said with false cheerfulness._

_"Bite me," Dean growled before he grunted as he was hauled into a sitting position. Sam felt rough hands in his own jacket as he too was hauled upright, his aching head singing with pain and nausea roiling in his stomach. Both he and Dean had been stripped down to t-shirts and jeans, their jackets and boots were gone, likely to search for weapons, making it chilly in the drafty place they were in, especially now that they had been doused with cold water._

_"Sure was a surprise to find you boys back at that bar," the man who had grabbed Sam said. He was middle-aged, had the hard, dangerous look of a man who had seen too much, with greying brown hair and cold grey eyes. "We've been looking for you for a while and you just go and wander right into our path."_

_Sam frowned, trying to make sense of what the man was saying as his head continued to pound._

_"Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded. "You must have got the wrong guys."_

_"I don't think so, Dean," the third man, middle-aged with hair greying at the sides, stepped forward and cocked his head to one side as Dean blanched at the use of his name. "I'm Mark, in case you're wondering. I guess you don't know me, but you will before this is over, that's a guarantee. And Sam." He turned toward the younger man, and Dean stiffened, ready to protest should Mark try anything. "You sure don't look like much for all I've heard of you."_

_"Alright," Dean snapped. "You got ten seconds to start explaining what the hell this is about before I tear you a new one."_

_"If you were in the position to do so," Mark smirked as his companions worked on trussing Sam and Dean up tightly, back to back to some kind of support beam. Sam was beginning to see they were in a small hunting cabin of sorts with a fireplace, a couple bunks at the back, and a small kitchenette. Likely out of the way somewhere in the mountains where no one would stumble upon them accidently—and probably couldn't hear them scream either. Perfect._

_"But I will tell you why we brought you here," Mark continued. "You see, we heard from some other hunters that Sam here has got some mighty special powers." Sam stiffened at the mention of that._

_"I don't…it's not like that," Sam protested, his stomach twisting._

_"Oh, I heard that too. Gotta hit the demon blood to power up, huh?"_

_"Freak," one of the other men said, the word boring into Sam's chest._

_"He's off the blood," Dean snarled at them. "How the hell did you find out about that?"_

_"Oh, you know, around," Mark shrugged. "Does it really matter?"_

_"So what, you wanna use me as a weapon? Kill me because I'm a monster?" Sam demanded, glaring up at their captor. "Go ahead, you wouldn't be the first one. But leave Dean out of this."_

_"Sammy," Dean cautioned._

_"Yeah…Sammy," the man who finished tying Sam up smirked, reaching down to pat the younger man's cheek, causing Sam to jerk away. "Don't fret your little head, we're not gonna kill you."_

_"We wanna know some things," Mark said. "See, we heard a whole lot about you two. About the apocalypse, and we think you know how to stop it."_

_Dean laughed dryly, looking over his shoulder at Mark. "In theory, maybe. In any case, we got more than you do, so you should probably let us go if you wanna survive the end of the world."_

_"Oh, it's my plan to let you go. Eventually," Mark said, standing up and moving around the support beam to face Dean now. "But first I want to know everything. Like how you two snot-nosed back country boys managed to start the frickin' apocalypse?!"_

_Dean just smirked. "Well, that is a long, bloody story." Then he kicked out at Mark, catching him in the knee as the man grunted and stepped back. One of the other men punched Dean in the jaw, his head slamming back against the post. Sam felt the blow through his back, and was glad when he heard Dean grunt, indicating he wasn't unconscious._

_"There's more we heard too," Mark said. "About you two being vessels for Michael and Lucifer themselves."_

_Sam's breath caught in his throat. How did they know that? Word about his powers and the demon blood could have gotten around after those hunters found out before, but he had never said anything about being Lucifer's vessel. He had only found out right after his run in with the hunters. He didn't even think the other demons had been told before he had._

_"Really?" Dean forced a chuckle. "You know, I would have thought hunters like you fellas would be able to tell the difference between the truth and utter bullcrap."_

_"That's what I thought at first too," Mark said. "But then, low and behold, an actual angel came and told us the truth and that's pretty damn convincing if I do say so myself."_

_"What angel?" Dean demanded._

_Mark just smiled and shook his head. "He said to send his regards, and also that we should try and convince you any way we could."_

_The other two hunters were currently at the table, setting out a few knives and various other tools that Sam didn't like the look of._

_"Convince us of what?" Dean asked._

_Mark leaned close to him, but was careful to crowd him so he couldn't get a kick in. "Convince you to say yes." He stood up and nodded to his companions. "Frank, Harry."_

_They each picked up a knife and came over to the Winchesters again. Sam glared up at the man standing over him, running his thumb along his blade._

_"You're making a mistake," he tried._

_"Son, the only mistake being made here, is letting you and your brother run around and play at stopping the apocalypse when it could all end with just a single word," Mark said. "I for one do not want to die bloody from prolonged war and destruction, not when I have been given the opportunity to put an end to it prematurely."_

_"You have no idea what you're even talking about," Dean tried, shaking his head. "That angel you talked to? I doubt he gave you any real info. But let me tell you, Michael, Lucifer, we're screwed if either of them win, this is so much more than you know."_

_"Well, I think I'll take my chances," Mark told him patronizingly. "Now, son, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, it's your choice."_

_Dean looked back over his shoulder as Sam did the same and their eyes met, determination in their gazes before Dean turned back around._

_"Screw you," he spat._

_Mark stood with a shrug and nodded to his companions. "Go ahead."_

_Frank knelt in front of Sam and the younger Winchester didn't have time to prepare before the blade slid through his skin._

~~~~~~~~

"An angel told them about you and Dean being vessels?" Castiel asked as Sam paused to catch his breath and shift into a more comfortable position. The angel helped him sit up against the pillows more to take the pressure off his broken ribs. "Did they ever say who it was?"

Sam met his eyes. "Guess."

Castiel knew instantly, anger burning in his chest as he spat, "Zachariah."

Sam nodded, his jaw clenched. "Yeah. Who else would give them carte blanche to do whatever necessary because he could just put us back together later?"

More anger flowed through Castiel's veins. Another human emotion, and one so easy to embrace and indulge, especially seeing Sam lying in the hospital bed, injured so badly. And Dean would be no better—perhaps even worse off if he hadn't managed to escape. Castiel was about to ask what had happened next when they were interrupted by the nurse coming in to check on Sam. She seemed pleased to see he was awake and smiled.

"Well, Mr. Winchester, it seems you're on the road to recovery. How are you feeling?"

"Okay," Sam said, a bit tersely.

"You need another dose of morphine?" she asked kindly.

"No," Sam replied almost too quickly. "I...I'm good."

"Since you're awake, you think you can manage some food? We need to make sure you can keep something in your stomach."

"Sure," Sam replied, glad when she left the room with a quick reassurance that she would be back in a minute.

Castiel watched Sam for a moment before he said. "Perhaps you should allow them to medicate you, Sam." He could see the obvious lines of pain in the young man's face every time he drew breath.

"Had worse," Sam insisted.

"I know," Castiel replied wryly. "But you should not suffer if you don't have to."

Sam breathed out a small sigh before turning to Castiel. "Dean's still out there, Cas. Who knows what they're doing to him right now. I can't…afford to dull my senses until we can figure out where he might be. Besides, I…I'm not really comfortable with them putting any drugs into me at the moment. Anymore than they already have, anyway. I know it's not the same as…you know, but…"

Castiel watched Sam fidget slightly in the bed and thought he understood. Sam's addiction to the demon blood had been one of the decisions he had regretted most, and though it had mostly been Ruby's fault, he would always blame himself, especially because it had almost torn him and Dean apart, ruined the relationship and the trust they shared. Castiel thought he would likely feel the same if he were in Sam's position. He didn't think the hospital grade drugs would affect Sam the same, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Still, he wished he could offer Sam another, drug free, way to deal with the pain.

"Well, then you should finish the story and then we'll see if we can find were the cabin is. How did you escape?"

Sam paused as the nurse came back with the food and impatiently waited for her to fiddle with the machines and the tubes attached to him before she finally left. He took an unenthusiastic spoonful of the broth they had brought him, before he turned back to Castiel.

"It wasn't easy, but eventually we were given an opportunity and we took it."

~~~~~~~

_"Sammy?"_

_Dean's voice was more of a groan than anything. Sam hauled his head up from where it had been lolling against his chest. "Yeah?" he managed._

_"You good?"_

_Sam almost chuckled at the absurdity of that question, but he knew it was just instinct for Dean. It felt good, actually, Dean acting like he used to, and had done rarely since the whole demon blood thing._

_"Not really," Sam admitted truthfully, stretching his jaw and hearing a pop, which made him wince. He had lost count how many times Frank had punched him in the face. His left eye was swollen shut now. Not to mention the various knife wounds he had sustained all over his body._

_"Well, I guess I should be glad you're not trying to lie," Dean replied._

_The words, though innocent enough, cut through Sam sharper than any knife the hunters had taken to him. He knew he deserved it, Dean's distrust, but he didn't think he had ever regretted something so much in his life than what he had done with Ruby. While he was drinking the demon blood, he had told himself it was a justified means to an end, but even then he had known what it was doing to him. That he didn't want to stop._

_"Dean," he said quietly. "I'm sorry—"_

_Dean shifted with a grunt and Sam felt his brother's hand knock against his own. "Sammy, I didn't mean it like that."_

_"No, it's okay, I deserve it," Sam replied bitterly._

_Dean sighed. "Look, we've both made mistakes, yeah, I mean, let's not forget I was the one who started this whole damn thing by breaking the first seal to begin with. Just because you broke the last one doesn't make it all your fault. This is on both of us. And the demon blood, yeah, it was a bad idea, but you know you can get clean now and you have. You can't blame yourself for what Famine drove you to."_

_"But I still want it," Sam ground out with disgust. "And that's what's gotten us into this mess." He related to Dean what had happened when they had been apart. How the other hunters had found out about him._

_"You think they told Mark and these guys?" Dean asked after a moment of silence when Sam had finished._

_"Don't know, I mean, Mark said an angel told them."_

_"Yeah, that's exactly the kind of dick move I would expect from Zachariah or one of his lackeys," Dean grunted. "We gotta find a way out of here, man. Maybe I should try praying to Cas."_

_"But we don't even know where we are, and he can't find us with the warding," Sam said. "Besides, can he even hear prayers anymore, being cut off and all? I mean, he can't smite now; he's getting worse."_

_"I know," Dean said, his voice heavy. "And we did that too. Dammit."_

_Sam slumped more heavily against the support post. They really were in a bad predicament. And one that seemed like it was only going to get worse because at that moment, Mark and his companions came back into the cabin from wherever they had gone before. Sam, who was facing the door, glared up at them, as he heard Dean shift to look over his shoulder._

_"Back for round two?" Dean asked._

_Mark was swinging a baseball bat, which did not bode well for them, and he tossed it to Frank who held it in both hands, looking at Sam with a leer. Sam shifted and tried to put on a defiant front, but really he wasn't sure how much more he could take. He still hadn't gotten his health back to normal since his last detox, and his muscle loss would only make a beating hurt worse._

_"Now boys, we've talked about this," Mark said, striding forward. "I just had a chat with my angelic friend—you may know him, his name's Zachariah." No news there, Sam thought. This had Zachariah written all over it. The only surprise was that he wasn't doling out the punishment himself. "See, he wants to speed things up a bit, gave me a few pointers on how to do that."_

_Frank and Harry advanced on the Winchesters and bent to start untying Sam from the post. Dean began yanking at his own bonds, cussing the hunters out, until Mark punched him in the face, slamming his head back against the post._

_"You'll get your turn, Dean. But I have a better idea to get you to say yes."_

_Sam was thrown into the corner of the room. He tried to get up and fight back, but Frank swung the bat, which landed hard across his shoulders, sending Sam to the ground, flat on his face. He got his hands and knees under him and forced himself up, shakily, before another blow caught him in the side and he yelped._

_"You sons of bitches!" Dean shouted, yanking so hard on his ropes his wrists bled. He practically glared daggers at Mark as the older hunter crouched to speak to him._

_"Frank will stop as soon as you say yes, Dean," he said._

_"Dean, don't," Sam tried, before the bat swung downward again, this time toward his head. He raised his arm to protect himself and it took the full force of the swing. He heard the sickening crack in his forearm and a breathless scream was forced from his throat as he sank to the ground and curled up, cradling his arm._

_"Sammy!" Dean yelled. He struggled again, but Mark grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head backwards, forcing Dean to look him in the eye._

_"Just say yes, Dean," he said._

_Sam screamed again as another blow was delivered to his arm, but higher this time. Tears leaked from his eyes and he wasn't even ashamed, didn't care. All he felt was the pain emanating from his left arm and his ribs. He could hardly breathe and lights were dancing in front of his eyes as well as dark spots._

_"Say yes, Dean!" Mark commanded again._

_That was the last thing Sam heard before a blow to the head, whether planned or accidental, sent him under completely. And he couldn't say he was exactly unhappy about the turn of events as he slid into the painless dark._

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Sam woke to something prodding him in the shoulder. He groaned, but didn't want to open his eyes. Knew that if he did it would only likely mean more pain from the way his head was aching._

_"Sammy, come on, man, wake up."_

_The familiar voice coaxed his eyes open into slits. Dean. It was Dean, not Mark or the others._

_"D'n?" he slurred, blinking several times to clear his vision as he finally settled on his brother, seeing that it was Dean's foot that had prodded him awake. His older brother was still tied to the post._

_"Yeah, Sammy, you awake?" Dean tried to give him a reassuring smile but it wasn't very convincing with one side of his mouth swollen and his lip split and clotted with dried blood._

_"Maybe," Sam said, closing his eyes again against the pain pounding inside his head. "Hurts."_

_"Yeah, you took a pretty good beating, kiddo." The worry in Dean's voice let Sam know exactly how bad it was._

_"Sam, I need you to listen, okay?" Dean spoke to him like he was a kid again. Sam might have taken offense if he had the capacity to care through the pain that was throbbing through his body right now. "Mark and the others are gone. I think they went out back or something, but you need to take the chance and run now, okay? Can you make it? Stand up?"_

_Sam frowned angling a judging look toward his brother. "Without you? You think I'm gonna leave you here, Dean?"_

_"Sammy, just go now, I'll hold them off."_

_Sam almost laughed at the ridiculousness of Dean tied to a post and holding off the three hunters and possibly Zachariah as well. But then he looked at his brother's desperate features, and his eyes flicked to the table that was only a couple yards away—but in his condition seemed miles—that held the knives that the hunters had been using on them earlier._

_"Sam, come on, you gotta hurry, man," Dean pleaded._

_"No," Sam informed him and forced himself up onto his hands and knees. Well, one hand anyway, because his whole left arm was busted, probably in multiple places if he were to guess. He nearly passed out as he jarred it accidently while getting up and curled it close to his chest._

_"Sammy?" Dean inquired._

_"'M good," Sam replied as he forced himself to crawl over to the table. His ribs too were aching; each breath felt like someone stabbing him in the side, and his head was pounding and making him dizzy. Finally he made it to the table, and reached up, grinding his teeth as his ribs protested the movement before he snagged one of the knives._

_"Sam, I mean it, get out while you can," Dean hissed._

_"I'm not leaving you, jerk," Sam informed him firmly as he started to drag himself back over toward his brother. He had let Dean down enough lately; he wasn't about to let him stay here at the mercy of those hunters and possibly Zachariah if the angel decided to show up after all. Besides, he wasn't sure he would get far by himself anyway, or even if he could get to his own feet._

_"Sam, you're a freakin' idiot," Dean shook his head as Sam practically slumped against the pole to catch his breath before he clumsily started to cut the ropes that bound Dean's hands._

_"Yeah, but a freakin' idiot who's going to save your ass, so shut up," Sam informed him breathlessly._

_He had a hard time focusing and Dean hissed on several occasions when Sam accidently nicked his wrists._

_"Sorry," he whispered as he watched more of Dean's blood drip onto the floor._

_"It's okay, Sammy, just hurry so we can get out of here."_

_Finally Sam had sliced through the last of the rope and Dean yanked his hands free, rubbing life back into them before he instantly turned around and took hold of Sam gently, making sure not to touch any of his injuries._

_"Can you stand?" Dean asked doubtfully._

_"Gonna have to," Sam snorted._

_"Okay, hold on." Dean rose with a wince, but he wasn't nearly as bad off as Sam was since they hadn't taken the baseball bat to him yet. He leaned over and carefully helped Sam to his feet. Sam couldn't help the yelp of pain as he made it upright, but Dean hushed him gently and pulled Sam's uninjured arm around his shoulders._

_"Maybe it's a good thing I'm coming with you then," Dean commented dryly as Sam was forced to lean most of his weight against his brother._

_"Knew I would need my crutch," Sam forced out from between clenched teeth._

_"Bitch," Dean muttered fondly, as they got to the door, and he opened it cautiously, peeking out into the grey early morning light. "Okay, looks clear that way. We gotta move quickly and try to get into the shelter of the trees before they come back and figure out we're missing."_

_Sam nodded, saving his breath for walking. At least they hadn't busted his leg. That was something to be thankful for. Still, the broken ribs and concussion made any upright movement bad enough._

_Dean started moving, and Sam was forced to make his legs work to keep up with him, wincing as the arm Dean had wrapped around his waist to steer him jolted his ribs even more. They were still barefooted, not having seen their boots in the cabin anywhere and the ground cover bit into their feet, but they would have to deal with it._

_They made it to the tree cover and rested a minute, Sam slumping back against a tree trunk and breathing heavily. Dean watched him worriedly._

_"How bad?" he asked._

_"I'll live," Sam huffed out. "Can't say I won't pass out at some point, though."_

_"Well, at least wait until we're somewhere safe because there's no way I can carry your sasquatch body off this mountain," Dean told him before he reached for Sam's good arm again and simply grabbed the elbow this time, seeming to realize it would be easier on Sam's ribs. "Come on, we gotta get going."_

_It was then they heard the shouts from behind them. Mark and the others must have come back and realized they had made their escape._

_Dean cursed viciously and lurched into a staggering run, dragging Sam along with him. "Come on, let's go now!"_

_Sam forced his long legs into a jog, keeping up with Dean only through sheer will as each step sent a jolt through his entire body, ending with a jangling burst of pain in his skull._

_"We don't even know where we're going!" he gasped out to Dean as he almost tripped over a fallen log and grabbed the back of his brother's jacket to keep himself upright, almost pulling Dean down with him._

_"If there's cabins up here, there's gotta be a road somewhere," Dean replied as he gritted his teeth and pulled Sam upright again, just as a gunshot rang out through the forest. Both brothers ducked automatically but kept up their staggering run. Sam felt a burst of adrenaline and sheer will flow through him, giving him a little strength, hopefully it would be enough to push through the pain and get out of this because he knew there was no way Dean was going to leave him out there, even if it were just to go find Cas and launch a real rescue. And Sam knew it wasn't going to be good for the hunters to have both of them. Zachariah had obviously told Mark to use him and Dean against each other, and Sam didn't even want to think all the other nasty plans Mark had up his sleeve involving them._

_"Trees are thinning up ahead, Sammy, I think it's a highway," Dean gasped out._

_"There!"_

_The shout came to their right and both brothers startled and tripped over a tangle of fallen branches. Dean somehow landed so that he caught Sam before he fell onto his injured arm, but the jolt still made the younger man cry out involuntarily. Dean hissed and scrambled to his feet, hauling his brother up unceremoniously as they heard the three hunters shouting, and closing in on them._

_"We're not gonna make it!" Sam moaned as he tried to get his vision to clear, dizzy from his swift return to an upright position._

_"Sure we are; see, road's right up ahead," Dean told him in that reassuring way he always effected when they were actually in deep shit. Sam was afraid he was about to do something stupid._

_"You boys won't get away!" Mark's voice called out. "Come quietly and it will be easier for you!"_

_"The hell it will!" Dean muttered._

_Just then the cut through mountain highway came into view, and Sam and Dean were nearly to the top of the dip when Sam tripped and fell, yelping as the fall jarred his body and his head painfully._

_"Sammy!" Dean cried as he gripped Sam's good shoulder and hauled him to his feet. He cast a look behind him before turning back around to Sam, looking him in the eyes._

_"Listen, find Cas, get help if you can, but don't come looking for me alone okay?"_

_"Dean, what…?" Sam asked, scared at what his brother was saying. "No, I'm not gonna—"_

_"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean cut him off and before Sam could say another word, Dean pushed him backwards, just as a gunshot rang out, accompanied by Dean's yelp of surprise. But Sam didn't even have time to figure out what that meant. He just tumbled down the hill toward the highway and came to a stop at the bottom, right on the side of the road. If he thought his body had hurt before it was only like a paper cut compared to this. Pain sang through him and he knew he should probably move further off the road in case he got run over, but as he tried to push himself upright, the agony got even more intense and simply shut down all his senses, ending in a welcome blackness that he embraced wholeheartedly._

~~~~~~~~

Sam finished his story, clutching his good hand in his lap. "I just figured he would be right behind me, but I think they shot him, Cas. And I just left him there," he said, then his chest shuddered and he covered his face with his hand. "Oh God."

Castiel was alarmed by Sam's reaction, knowing this was the start of another panic attack. He reached out a hand to try and soothe the hunter as the machines blared warnings and Sam fought to breathe, his chest spasaming.

"Sam? Sam, calm down, we'll find Dean, alright?"

Doctors suddenly came into the room and shoved Castiel aside. The angel wanted to take offense, angry and protective of his charge, but knew he had no skills to help Sam any longer. He watched them fix a mask of oxygen over Sam's face, and empty a syringe of something into his IV. Whatever it was, it seemed to calm Sam down, until he realized that it was doing so, then he reached up to grab at the mask.

"N-no, please, don't put me out again, I need to stay awake!" he pleaded.

"You need to relax, Mr. Winchester, you just had a panic attack," the doctor said calmly. "I think it's best—"

"Cas, don't let them…" Sam pleaded, making several of the nurses look up at Castiel curiously.

"Sam, it's okay, just calm down, and breathe," Castiel tried to tell him before turning to the doctor. "Do you have to put him out again? I can keep him calm, but only if you don't force any drugs into him. He's not okay with being forced to sleep right now."

"I don't think—" one nurse tried, but the doctor stepped in.

"Very well, if you think you can keep him calm, then try it, but if he has another panic attack, we'll be forced to make the decision for him," the doctor said. "Keep that oxygen mask on though."

Sam relaxed slightly, and he and Castiel both waited impatiently for the doctors to finish up checking his vitals and change the IV that had the drugs in it. Sam seemed to calm down as soon as they took it away and his breathing evened out, but they were both glad when the doctors left.

Sam shakily pulled the mask from his face. "Sorry, the memories were still coming back to me."

"It's okay, Sam," Castiel said, resuming his seat by the bed. "Now, if you think you'll be okay here, I'll go and talk to that nurse from earlier who called me, and see if she can tell me where the couple found you. If we can get a map, do you think you could find the general area the cabin was in if we figure out the spot you ended up?"

Sam nodded looking relieved that there was something they could do. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good," Castiel replied and stood. "We'll find Dean, Sam, I promise. In the meantime, keep that mask on."

Sam gave him what Castiel had heard Dean call the 'bitchface' and he took it as a sign to Sam's mental recovery at least. He left the room and went off to find the nurse.

~~~~~~~~

Dean came to in a haze of pain. He was really getting tired of that sensation. He thought that after thirty years of being Alastair's plaything in hell he would have gotten used to the constant pain, but no, he hadn't. Obviously, that was one of the reasons he had broken down there in the first place. And now, well, he was done with pain, would have loved never getting so much as a paper cut again in his life, but that was a fantasy he could never hope to achieve.

Once he became more aware of his surroundings, he realized he was once again tied to the support post in the cabin, his wounded leg stretched out in front of him. He looked at it woozily, seeing someone had tied a rag around it, but it still hurt like hell. Literally. Sure, it hadn't been the first time he'd had to cauterize a wound, but he tried to avoid it as much as possible—that was why he and Sam had gotten so good at sutures, even on themselves. His mind was rambling…he wondered vaguely if that was just the pain or if it was the onset of a fever.

Heavy footsteps on the wooden floorboards startled him out of his thoughts and forced his head up to see Mark come blearily into sight.

"You awake, son?" the older hunter asked, carrying a pail.

"No—" Dean tried to protest but the freezing water was sloshed over him anyway, and he gasped as it shocked his entire system into fight or flight mode. The movement wrenched his bullet wound and he whimpered pitifully, not having the strength to do much else.

Mark knelt beside him and grabbed a fistful of his dripping hair, yanking his head back so Dean would look up at him. "You still with us, Deano?"

The nickname and the words caused a shudder to course through Dean that had nothing to do with the freezing water. How many times had he heard that in hell, hissed glibly or tauntingly into his ear by Alastair, usually when the demon was elbows deep in Dean's insides, making sure that Dean was still conscious enough to feel every cut, burn or break that Alastair inflicted. Had Mark somehow known? Had Zachariah told him that too? Dean was probably just overreacting, but it hadn't been long enough for him. It would never be long enough for him.

"You wanna get your hands on this, you gotta buy me dinner first," Dean forced out with his usual defiance, a smirk twisting on his swollen face.

"You're funny," Mark said blandly as he shoved Dean back against the post and stood up again. "Shame that won't stop me from doing what I have to to get you to cooperate."

"Come on, Mark," Dean said, shaking his head. "What could Zach possibly have promised you to get you to do his dirty work for him?"

Mark stopped on his way over to the table, shoulders straightening protectively as he cast a glance over his shoulder at Dean. "None of your damn business."

"Well, buddy, you want something enough to torture me and my baby brother, you damn well made it my business," Dean told him in no uncertain terms.

Mark turned his back, gripping the table. "My family, alright? My wife and daughter—killed by demons after you Winchesters opened the damn devil's gate. Zachariah said he'd bring them back if I got you and your stubborn-ass brother to say yes."

Dean slumped back against the post with a groan. "Mark, I hate to break it to you, but Zach is a two-timing douchebag who uses people to do what he wants and then leaves them in the lurch. You'd have better luck getting your family back if you went down to the crossroads."

Mark spun around, a knife in his hand and he took two steps toward Dean before shoving the blade against his throat. "What do you know about it?"

Dean almost laughed. "What do I know? Man, you're not the one who has been screwed over by angels around every corner the past year and a half. You're not the one who actually did sell his soul to save his brother and went to Hell for it; you don't have the right. So go ahead, cut my throat. Zach can put me back together, right? And while he's here, you can ask him for a signature on that deal."

Mark's eyes burned in anger but Dean didn't break his gaze, and he finally pulled the knife away and stood up. "I guess some of us just have more faith, Winchester. Some of us actually want to make an effort to win this war."

Dean shrugged, staying nonchalant. "There's more than one way to win a war. But hey, if you want to sign on as an angel condom, be my guest. Michael might be so desperate even you would look good."

Mark scowled again but before he could say anything, Frank and Harry came through the door, hands and jeans dirty as if they had been digging in the dirt. Dean was vaguely curious, but didn't think too much about it. Mark turned to them.

"You finish?"

"Ready when you are," Frank said.

"Well, I still haven't gotten anything out of him. Maybe we can tenderize him a little first." Mark turned back to Dean as Frank and Harry turned back to the table and looked through the selection of pain inducing implements they had collected. Mark nodded to them. "I'm not the only one who has something riding on you and your brother saying yes, you know, Dean."

"Yeah, figured that much," Dean grunted, warily watching Harry slide on a set of brass knuckles.

"Maybe we should switch to a little questioning, though, mix things up a bit," Mark told Dean. "There was something else Zachariah asked us to mention, about another angel—Castiel, I think."

"What about him?" Dean asked, trying not to let any interest show on his face.

"Well, where is he, mostly. Zachariah seemed to want to talk to him."

Dean couldn't help the snort of derision that escaped. Mark seemed pleased at this.

"This Castiel, he's a friend of yours, isn't he?" Mark pressed.

More like family, Dean added in his head, but of course he would never say that out loud. That would only give Mark more incentive to find Cas. "He hangs around," he said casually.

"Zachariah seemed to think he might be coming by at some point to look for you. Maybe he can sweeten the deal since we don't have little Sammy."

Dean swallowed angrily. "You're not getting your hands on Cas any more than Sam, Mark."

"Well," Mark shrugged. "We can hardly help it if he just happens to fly into a trap when he comes to your rescue."

"He doesn't even know where I am," Dean said.

"He will if you call him." Mark held up a cell phone and walked over to Dean. "Just tell me his number and we'll make sure he knows where you are."

"No," Dean said firmly.

"Okay then, we'll see if Frank and Harry can loosen your tongue up a bit," Mark shrugged. "In the meantime, you may want to pray to your angel if he can still hear you with his busted halo, because it's only gonna get worse from here."

"Like I haven't heard that before," Dean muttered before Harry and Frank descended on him with a flurry of blows, driving everything from his mind except just trying to breathe through the pain.

~~~~~~~~

Castiel finally found the nurse he was looking for as she stopped by the desk on that floor to sign some papers.

"Excuse me," he said and for the first time noticed the name on her tag was Catherine.

Catherine looked up and smiled. "Hi, um, Castiel, right? How is your friend doing, do you need something?"

He tried a smile, figuring it would make the interaction more casual. He had seen Sam and Dean do this on many occasions. "I was actually wondering if you could tell me exactly where the couple found Sam on the highway? And maybe if you had a road map of the area to look at?"

Catherine frowned. "Yeah, I can probably manage that. Can I ask why?"

Castiel wished, not for the first time, that humans weren't such curious creatures. "Sam is…he's trying to remember exactly what happened, and I thought if I could show him a map and where he was found, he might be able to remember where he was injured. It's causing him some distress and I believe he would be able to rest easier if he could at least figure out where he was."

Catherine nodded slowly and then went around the desk to look through some files before she reached into another drawer and pulled out a road map. She laid the map out on the desk and Castiel joined her as she checked the notes and then took a marker and highlighted the spot on the map.

"The couple found him right here, right past mile marker 50. There's a lot of hiking trails and stuff up in the woods, I think so maybe Sam was hiking or hunting like you said."

"Thank you…Catherine," Castiel told the women gratefully as he took the map.

"I hope Sam feels better soon. It's always hard for patients when they can't remember what happened to them; but usually the memory comes back, it's just a side effect of the concussion."

Castiel took the map back to Sam and the young man's eyes eagerly alighted on it as Castiel pulled the bedside tray over top of the bed so Sam could look at the map with him. He pointed to the spot the nurse Catherine had marked.

"This is where you were found," Castiel told him. "How far do you think you ran?"

Sam studied the map, a furrow between his brows. "I don't think it was more than two miles. It seemed longer at the time, but we weren't going very fast and they caught up to us quickly enough. Besides, from experience, I don't think I could have gotten much farther than that in my condition."

"So a position about two miles in from the road," Castiel mused. He had trouble reading human maps, it was so much easier to simply fly over the terrain, but he supposed he would need to figure it out soon, as flying was getting harder and more exhausting for him by the day, especially over long distances or with passengers.

"Well, I don't remember a river," Sam said, pointed to one spot. "So it might have been west of here. Wait, that's a cabin mark, isn't it?"

"I…don't know," Castiel frowned, squinting at the tiny picture on the map. "It does look like an illustration of a small house though, yes."

"That means hunting cabins," Sam said quickly. "That must be it, Cas. Mark and the others must have set up somewhere around there." He looked up at the angel. "You gotta go see if Dean's still there."

Castiel nodded and turned to leave but Sam reached out and caught his sleeve.

"Cas, please bring back my brother," he pleaded quietly. "I can't…" he stopped and turned aside.

"I know," Castiel told him softly and gripped Sam's wrist, understanding the words Sam couldn't say. "I promise I'll bring him back." He gave a small wry smile. "Try to get some rest."

Sam's eyes already seemed to be drooping. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel turned and walked out of the hospital, with one mission only.

To find Dean and bring him back alive.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Castiel landed at mile marker 50 where Sam was supposed to have been found. They were about twenty miles from the hospital and even that flight left him feeling a bit winded. He gritted his teeth as he thought about how quickly he was falling. Ever since their encounter with Famine it had only seemed to get worse. He had been disgusted with himself for succumbing to such human needs and desires, and almost wished he'd had the luxury to detox from the hamburger binge as Sam had from the demon blood. He knew it was only going to get worse from here on out, and how long would it be before he actually did have to imbibe in food just to keep a human amount of energy up and to keep his vessel alive?

In the meantime, however, he could still track and he could still fight and he was going to find Dean and bring him back to his brother, and he didn't need his full 'mojo' for that.

He searched around the area next to the road, until he came to a spot that definitely looked to be where someone had tumbled down the incline toward the road. And at the bottom some bloodstains could be seen in the loam. He was certain this was the place Sam had come to rest and with a couple flaps of his wings, he was at the top of the rise, now looking down on the highway.

He cast about up there for a few minutes before he found a rather large puddle of blood soaked into the leaves and moss on the ground and more spattered onto a rock nearby. He crouched, frowning. It wasn't enough for a fatal wound, but if Dean had been shot, he would be weak and could have lost more if they had dragged him through the woods.

Castiel saw there was a faint trail, looking like a body had been dragged; hopefully it was a still living body. But Castiel somehow knew Dean wasn't dead. He may not be able to physically sense the hunter anymore with the warding on his ribs, but there was still a vague connection between the two of them, because of his handprint burn on Dean's shoulder where he had laid claim to Dean's soul to raise him from perdition. It was enough to tell him that Dean lived.

He proceeded cautiously through the woods, following the trail, but keeping an eye out for anyone who might be around. He finally came near a clearing and saw a cabin, smelling wood smoke that he hadn't before because of the direction of the wind. This must be the cabin Mark and the other hunters had.

Castiel furrowed his brow. He couldn't just go in 'guns blazing' as the humans would say. If the hunters had been working for Zachariah, then it was likely they could have even warded the place against angels in preparation for his inevitable appearance. He decided the best course of action would be to observe their movements and then decide how best to get Dean out, even though the thought of leaving Dean with them any longer than he had to frustrated him. If only he was at full power, he could have gone in, blowing through the door and smiting all the hunters before they could raise their inferior human weapons toward him. But now he couldn't even smite and Zachariah may have given them weapons that could actually hurt him. Of course, Castiel wasn't sure what couldn't hurt him anymore. Maybe a plain bullet would actually do him damage after all. He hadn't exactly put it to the test.

Castiel went further into the woods again and worked on circling the cabin. As he got closer, something made his skin tingle and he frowned, before stopping instantly and carefully crouching at the edge of some newly turned pine needles. He took his blade and flicked some of them aside, seeing a sigil scratched into the dirt—a nasty trap that would have left him helpless. He quickly slashed through it with his angel blade. Yes, Zachariah had told them to prepare for him. He would have to be careful.

There was another smaller place out back that looked like a shed or something, and as his eyes scanned over that, he saw a large dark shape hidden further off among the trees.

Castiel frowned, going over to see what it was, finding the object was covered in several dirty tarps. He began to pull them off until he unearthed the Winchesters' car, Dean's beloved Impala. Castiel knew Dean would want to know where his car was, so he was glad he had found it, but now to actually find Dean.

Perhaps if he waited at the back of the cabin for the hunters to come out he could start taking them out one by one. This seemed like the best option he had, and surely one of them would come out at some point even if it was just to answer a call of nature.

As he made his way back toward the cabin though, he felt something shift under his foot and there was a click and a sudden flare of agony shot up his leg, wrenching a surprised yelp from his throat as he tumbled to the ground. He looked down in horror to see a clawed bear trap biting into his right ankle and lower calf. Upon further examination, he saw the metal had been inscribed with Enochian sigils. He hadn't expected something quite this physical.

Castiel tried to pry the thing from his leg, but only managed to make it chew deeper into his flesh. He gritted his teeth, feeling woozy as he watched blood and sparks of grace seeping out around the cruel teeth of the trap.

The pain was so great that at first he didn't notice the two men who had exited the cabin and were coming toward him. But then he heard a surprised whistle and his head snapped up, his angel blade sliding into his hand as he glared at the new arrivals. One was a dark haired man in his late thirties and the other was an older greying man, more heavy set, and carrying a baseball bat.

"Well, look at that, Harry," the baseball bat man said. "You think this is our angel?"

"Doesn't look like much," Harry replied. "Nothing more than a birdie in a trap."

"Where's Dean Winchester?" Castiel demanded, trying to get up on one knee, even though the effort sent pain shooting up his trapped leg.

"You'll see him soon enough," the baseball bat man said as he raised the weapon.

Castiel was about to lunge with his blade when the bat swung down and struck him in the temple. He was thrown to the ground, grunting as the trap dug into his leg further and black danced across his vision. He tried to push himself up but he was hit again, and then again, and finally Castiel couldn't stop himself from slipping into unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~~

Dean spat out a gob of blood during a breather in the beating, panting as he sagged in his bonds. He was going to be lucky if he came out of this with any of his ribs intact, right now he had figured at least five were broken accompanied by what would likely be bloody bruises on his chest and abdomen. He cautiously searched his mouth with his tongue and was actually surprised to find that none of his teeth had been knocked out. It could have been worse, he figured. Of course that didn't mean the pain was any easier to deal with, but he would take a million beatings so long as he didn't have to watch Sam get smashed into pulp with a baseball bat.

Mark was in his face again soon enough, hand gripping his bloody jaw. Dean winced as he stared balefully up at the older hunter.

"Ya gonna ask me again where Cas is?" he slurred. "Shove it up your ass Mark—gah!" Mark's other hand wrapped around his thigh and squeezed over top of the bullet wound. Dean growled past the pain, his eyes watering. Mark kept squeezing until tears were streaming down Dean's cheeks, making tracks in the blood at the burning agony that tore right down to his toes and up to his hip.

"You just don't break easy, do you, Winchester?" Mark snarled.

Dean forced his eyes open, panting as he ground out. "Yeah, kinda took Hell's head interrogator thirty years, so I wouldn't hold your breath."

Mark nodded thoughtfully, as he finally stood up. "Everyone has their breaking point, Dean. I'll find yours too."

There was a sudden noise from outside. If Dean heard correctly he thought it almost sounded like a human shouting. He frowned, and then with a horrified thought, hoped it wasn't Sam who had somehow made his way back up to the cabin and was attempting to rescue his brother in some incredibly stupid suicide mission. Mark must have noticed a change in Dean, because a small smile came over his face as he turned to his companions.

"You hear that, boys? Why don't you go check it out?"

Frank and Harry left the cabin, Frank carrying the baseball bat as he went. Dean hoped it was just an animal. Mark watched him before he propped one hip up on the table and stared across at Dean.

"Ya know, son, if you really thought about it, you would say yes in a heartbeat to being Michael's vessel. How many other people have a chance to really help save the world?"

"Oh, we are so far past the good cop stage," Dean groaned at him, slumping back against the post with a wince. "Mark, I'm gonna be honest with you, if I truly thought I had to let Michael jump my bones to stop this thing, then I would do it in a heartbeat. Stop Lucifer before he got to Sam and put an end to the apocalypse. But what you don't get is that neither side can win, Mark. It's a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation. Everything is not as it seems, and I know Zach probably gave you some crap about paradise and everything, but truth is, there ain't no such thing as paradise, it's just another prison with a fancy name."

Mark looked angry. "Maybe if you'd lost a wife and child you would think differently."

Dean stared at him, too tired to argue the point. "I've lost enough."

Sounds of struggle could be heard outside the cabin and Dean's ears pricked up. Mark was distracted from their conversation and he smiled down at Dean again, standing up to peek out the window. "Huh, looks like one of our traps was fruitful."

Anxiety roiled in Dean's stomach and he tried to fight down his panic as he braced himself for what Frank and Harry were bringing back to the cabin. He could hear their steps outside, and then the door swung open to reveal Frank and Harry dragging a trench-coated figure behind them, which they dumped a few feet away from Dean.

"Looks like we caught a bird in our net," Harry said to Mark with satisfaction.

"Cas!" Dean cried, horrified to see the blood staining one side of the angel's face and making his dark hair stick up at odd angles, but as he looked harder, he also saw Cas' right pant leg was shredded, and bloody, deep puncture wounds in his pale flesh showing through the fabric.

"What did you do to him, you sons of bitches?!" Dean demanded.

"Relax, Dean, he's an angel, he'll recover," Mark told him. "You on the other hand, we're gonna have to think about. I've still gotta find something that will make you talk." He turned to his companions. "Boys, I think it's time to try our plan B."

"Gladly," Frank said with a smirk.

"We'll give Dean some time to cool off while we work the halo over," Mark gave Cas' unconscious body a kick in the ribs as he accepted the angel blade Harry handed to him. Anger flared through Dean as he watched the hunter handle Cas' blade. "Heh, can't say I'm not curious to see what sort of damage this does to an angel," Mark said, looking pointedly at Dean.

"You'd do better saving it for Zachariah. If you take that blade to Cas, I swear I'll kill you all," Dean growled at him as Frank and Harry started untying him and were busy heaving him to his feet.

"Well, you are a loyal friend, Dean, I have to give you that," Mark said. "Cas and I will be sure to chat about that while you're having a time out."

Dean's body sang with pain and he almost lost consciousness upon standing. His legs shook under him, and his injured one wanted nothing to do with movement whatsoever. He didn't want to leave Cas alone and seemingly helpless with Mark, but he also knew the angel could take care of himself. At least, he hoped he could. Cas had been a lot weaker lately, more than before, even. But these guys were just humans, and Dean had no doubt Cas could take them if he needed to. What worried him was if they decided to invite Zachariah to the party. That feathery douchebag wouldn't be so docile.

"Where the hell are we going?" Dean demanded as he was shoved out the door and dragged across the yard. He saw a shed outside the back of the cabin, and figured it was used for cleaning the kills the hunters brought back. He swallowed hard, hoping they weren't planning on stringing him up and gutting him like a buck, but they bypassed the shed for a spot of freshly dug earth beside it. Dean was confused until he looked down into the hole and saw a long wooden box. His knees folded instantly.

"No, no, hell no," he shouted, renewing his struggles as Frank and Harry fought to keep dragging him forward and Dean just dug his feet in.

"Seems like we picked the right thing, finally," Frank said with a smile.

"Guys, come on, you're not really gonna do this," Dean tried to plead, embarrassed at the panic in his voice. But all he could think about was waking up in that coffin after Cas pulled him out of hell, alone, no idea how he had gotten there. Punching his way out as the air got thicker and thicker, thinking he was just going to die there and go straight back to the pit. He couldn't do that again. Could not do it.

"Sweet dreams, Deano," Harry told him before he took hold of Dean while Frank grabbed a shovel. Then Harry shoved Dean forward and the younger man tumbled into the freshly dug grave.

The last thing he remembered was falling into the wooden box and then he hit his head and was out.

~~~~~~~

Castiel came to with a start. Unconsciousness was an odd feeling, one he wasn't used to. There was a vague throb in his head and another in his right lower leg but he was sitting upright, which was odd, he should be on the ground. Then he realized his back was flush with something hard and his arms were wrenched around it backwards and tied together. He blinked several times to clear his blurred vision and looked around the room, seeing a man sitting back in a chair a few feet away, tossing Castiel's angel blade from hand to hand.

He looked up when he saw Castiel stir and kicked out at his foot. "You awake there, halo?"

Castiel glowered up at him. "I'm not asleep, no."

"Good, I was hoping you wouldn't stay out for much longer. Castiel, right?" the man asked, pointing the blade at him.

"Yes. And you must be Mark." Castiel discovered with some surprise that he had only been bound with regular rope. Even in his fallen state, he could easily snap that to get free. If these men had been expecting him, wouldn't they have taken more precautions? And then he looked down and realized why they hadn't bothered. A crude circle of binding sigils had been painted around the post he sat against, kind of the same idea as a demon trap. It would trap him in the circle unless broken and keep a hold on his already depleted powers. Even now, he felt his grace trying to heal his body, but it was sluggish at best.

"Sorry, Cas, not going anywhere for a while," Mark told him as he stood up and went to stand at the very edge of the circle at Castiel's feet, pointing the blade at him. "I got someone willing to pay a handsome price for your return."

Castiel chose not to say anything, but a sick knot formed in his stomach. He knew Zachariah would not be merciful when he got his hands on him. And Castiel couldn't allow himself to be taken yet, not until Dean was safe. "Where is Dean?"

"He's taking a much needed rest," Mark told him with a small smirk that Castiel didn't like at all.

"What have you done with him?" the angel demanded, leaning forward as far as his ropes would allow.

"I don't think you need to be concerned with him right now, I think you should be more concerned for yourself," Mark said, crouching in front of him and tapping the angel blade against his chest. "See, Deano probably isn't going to be at his best when we get him back in here later and it will be a prime opportunity to wheedle a little yes out of him. And what better way to move that along than getting one of his best friends to urge him to do it."

Castiel glared at him. "Dean will never say yes to Michael. I won't let him."

"Well, I'll see if I can persuade you then," Mark said, and sliced the angel blade experimentally down Castiel's jawline. The angel winced slightly and Mark watched in fascination as the wound briefly glowed with grace before filling with blood and dripping down Castiel's neck. The hunter whistled appreciatively.

"Well, this really does work well, doesn't it?"

"You think your petty human interrogation techniques can really sway me?" Castiel asked. "The things Zachariah has planned for me you cannot even imagine."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to step up my game then," Mark said and reached out to loosen Castiel's tie, popping the first couple buttons of his shirt and dragging the blade deeply across his sternum. Castiel cringed, biting back the yelp that wanted to escape at the burning pain.

Mark was interrupted when the door opened and the other two hunters, Frank and Harry entered, smug grins on their faces and dirt on their jeans. Mark stood and turned to them.

"Well?" he asked.

"He didn't like that at all, good call, Mark," Harry said. "I think he'll be nice and complaint by the time we pull him up."

"What have you done with Dean?" Castiel demanded, hating the sneers on the hunter's faces. He wished to wipe them off with the blade Mark now held.

"Don't you worry your pretty head, halo," Frank said with a smirk. "He's not your concern."

"Help me work the angel over, boys," Mark told them. "I want him to be well done by the time Dean sees him again."

Mark strode toward Castiel with the blade again, but this time, the angel was ready for him. As Mark stepped over the edge of the circle, Castiel kicked upward suddenly, catching the hunter between the legs and dropping him with a grunt. He snapped his bonds, grabbed his discarded angel blade and slammed it into the sigil, instantly cutting it's power. Then he was on his feet, meeting Frank and Harry who rushed toward him with various weapons.

Castiel dodged the bat Harry swung at him and smashed the hilt of his blade into the man's temple, dropping him like a rock. Then he turned to grab the barrel of the shotgun Frank was trying to shoot him with and shoved it backwards into the man's gut, folding him over before Castiel threw him across the room where he slammed into the wall and stayed still.

Mark was staggering to his feet and Castiel helped him up the rest of the way, slamming him against the post he had been previously tied to and putting his face close to the hunter's.

"Where is Dean?" he demanded.

"Zachari—" Mark started to shout, but Castiel cut him off with his blade pressing into the man's jugular.

"Another word that is not about where Dean is and I will bleed you out and move to the next one, do you understand?"

Mark stared at him for a moment before Castiel slammed him against the post again. "Dean! Where is he?" He gathered his strength and forced it to manifest in his eyes, glowing blue and angry. Mark looked about ready to wet himself by now and started babbling.

"Okay, okay, he's out back. By the shed! Take him and go! It's not like Zachariah won't find you."

Castiel stared at him for several long seconds as Mark shook in his grip, then he nodded once and slammed his blade hilt into the man's head, knocking him unconscious before he dropped him carelessly to the floor.

Castiel stowed his blade and quickly tied the three hunters up so they couldn't leave. Then he frowned and straightened his tie before he left the cabin and hurried to find Dean.

~~~~~~~

Dean woke in darkness. He couldn't see, but there was a feeling of closeness to his surroundings, suffocating and warm. He groaned and turned his aching head. His whole body ached, really. He drew one arm up to touch his head and found the action difficult. It was as if he were stuck somewhere.

Getting more and more uncomfortable, Dean tried to sit up, but only got a few inches before his head hit something. He shuffled around, pressing shaking hands to all sides and tried to force back the panic that was rising in his throat. No, no, it wasn't happening again. It couldn't be happening again.

He fumbled in his jeans pockets, but there was no lighter.

"Hey!" he tried to call, but his voice was hardly a hoarse whisper. Sweat beaded down his face as he started weakly thumping at the wooden sides of the box. He would not call it a coffin, he wouldn't.

But that opened the floodgates as all rational thought slipped away from him and he was only fighting to survive. He began slamming at the roof, until his hands bled, clawing until he broke his nails, and kicking as well as he could. And screaming. Somewhere in his mind he knew he shouldn't be expending energy like that, that he should reserve what air was left in the space, but he was beyond all that, he was already too far gone.

He just needed to get out!


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel hurried outside the cabin toward the shed he had seen in the back. His heart was pounding as he flung the door open, apprehensive to see what horror they had used to quell Dean, if he was indeed quelled to the degree that Frank and Harry seemed to think.

But Dean wasn't in the shed, Castiel shut the door angrily behind him and began to cast around, worried they might have tricked him after all. Maybe they had taken Dean away somewhere else—maybe Zachariah had already come for him. But no, Castiel could sense Dean was near. He just wasn't sure where.

His heightened sense of hearing picked up on a muffled sound, and he stopped to listen to it, closing his eyes. It sounded almost like pounding and maybe…screaming.

"Dean?" he shouted, looking around and trying to find the source of the sound. "Dean, where are you?"

He ran around to the back of the shed and almost tripped over a shovel that had been lying on the ground. He frowned as he looked at it, still hearing the muffled thumping, and then noticed the freshly turned patch of dirt. Horror struck him as he realized what it meant.

"Dean!" He frantically grabbed the shovel and started to stab at the dirt, digging so fast the soil flew behind him. And all the time his anger towards the hunters burned. This was a low he hadn't thought them capable of. Of course he had seen the pointless cruelty turned on Sam, no more than a tool to get what they wanted out of his brother, but this was a sadistic, twisted move that Castiel couldn't quite believe. Or forgive.

He had been forced to leave Dean in his grave before, when Castiel had brought his soul from hell and put the human's body back together, and even then, he had felt a pang at having to do so, knowing it was a cruelty. But to put a living person through such torment, was inhuman. These men deserved no better than the same fate.

"Dean, if you can hear me," he panted between shovels. "I'm getting you out. Just hang on." There was still the sound of pounding below and hoarse screaming that was tearing Castiel's heart out and making him sick to his stomach. For about the thousandth time in the last couple days, he wished he had all his powers; then he could simply move the dirt off the grave, but instead he had to do it the slow way—the human way.

Thankfully, they hadn't spent the time to bury Dean really deep. There was only a couple feet of earth on top of the wooden box, and Castiel scraped solid wood with his shovel soon enough. But he couldn't open the box until he had cleared the dirt. He thought that hearing the scrape of the shovel would have calmed Dean, but the hunter must have been too far gone, because instead it just increased his struggles and Castiel sincerely hoped he wouldn't hurt himself. It sounded like he was in a full panic.

"Dean, hang on, I'm getting you out," he pleaded. He scraped as much of the dirt out with the shovel that he could and then he fell to his knees in the hole and flung the rest aside with his hands, ignoring the wooden slivers that dug into his flesh. He dug out the unhinged side of the box and finally, finally, was able to pry it open.

What he saw when he opened it would haunt him forever. Dean lying there, shaking and sobbing, and looking like anything but Dean Winchester. Castiel was suddenly glad it had been him who had found the hunter and not Sam. Dean wouldn't have wanted Sam to see him like this.

He reached down to pull Dean out, but Dean, instead latched onto his arms in a death grip and nearly launched himself out of the box, causing Castiel to stumble backwards and sit down hard with Dean in his arms.

The hunter was shaking so much his teeth chattered, and pitiful whimpering sobs escaped from his throat between gasps of fresh air. Castiel was too shocked to do anything but hold him tightly and try to somehow offer reassurance through that contact, but he didn't know what to say. Dean's bloody fingers dug into his arms with a crushing grip and his forehead rested on Castiel's shoulder so that the angel could feel Dean's tears on his neck. He began to rock Dean gently as mothers did to their children. He didn't know if that was appropriate to do for a hunter or not, but it didn't seem to harm Dean any.

Then Dean's sobs started turning to breathless gasps and Castiel, alarmed, pushed Dean away from him with great effort and saw him unable to get a breath, looking like Sam had when he was having a panic attack.

Castiel quickly shifted and forced Dean's head down between his knees The new position might have hurt the hunter's injuries, but after a few seconds and Castiel's firm hand on the back of Dean's neck to offer assurance, the hunter was breathing shakily again.

That was when Castiel nudged Dean's head up a bit and tried to get the hunter to uncurl so he could check him for injuries. Dean was oddly compliant, eyes closed and just seemed to be concentrating on breathing so Castiel laid him out on the ground to get a better look at him.

His left leg was soaked in blood with a rag tied around it just above the knee, and the rest of his body was littered in cuts and bruises. Likely broken ribs, though Castiel didn't want to touch them in case they made Dean's breathing worse again. His hands looked terrible, the nails all broken from scratching the inside of the coffin. Castiel swallowed hard as he looked inside the box and saw the scratch marks, painted with blood inside. And his knuckles were bloody and broken, both hands curled into trembling claws resting at Dean's waist. But Castiel knew that the physical damage, though bad enough, was nowhere equal to the psychological.

He was almost surprised when he heard his name whispered so quietly, he wasn't sure if he hadn't imagined it.

"Cas?"

He turned back to Dean's face. The hunter's eyes weren't opened, but Castiel could somehow tell he was more conscious now. He put a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder where the scar from Castiel's handprint could be seen through his torn t-shirt. The connection seemed to calm the elder Winchester even more.

"I'm here, Dean."

"S'mmy?" Dean whispered.

Castiel smiled, knowing that would be his first question. "He's safe and being taken care of. He's waiting for me to bring you back."

Dean relaxed further and seemed to fall unconscious again. Castiel knew there was nothing else he personally could do for Dean so as gently as possible, he slid his arms under Dean's knees and shoulders and picked him up. He wanted to just fly back to the hospital, but didn't want to risk it in his current, weakened state when he had an injured Dean as his passenger. Instead he strode over to the place the hunters had stashed the Impala. Dean had given him a driving lesson a few weeks back and Castiel figured he could at least get them back to the hospital.

He opened the back door and slid Dean in, before reaching up to the rear dash and grabbing a folded blanket there. Dean's eyes slit open, vaguely surprised by his surroundings as Castiel tucked the blanket around his still trembling body, but he seemed comforted to be in his car.

"Wha' 'bout Mark?" Dean muttered, surprising Castiel.

"Don't worry about him," Castiel told him tersely, his jaw clenching just at the thought of the hunter. He made Dean a pillow out of a discarded jacket on the back seat and then straightened. "I'll be back."

"Cas, where ya goin'?" Dean asked, almost anxiously.

Castiel met his eyes with a look but didn't say anything. He just turned again and strode back toward the cabin.

~~~~~~~

Sam and Dean had taught Castiel about hunting; about how you killed monsters, not people. But when people became the monsters, they had to die like the monsters died.

And Mark, Frank and Harry were monsters.

Castiel might have let them go before, let them get their just desserts from Zachariah when he found out they had failed him, but after the cruelty they had shown toward Dean, the torments they had hurt him with, and the sadistic glee they had shown in their eyes as they gloated about it, that had been a death sentence for all of them. Castiel knew in good conscious that he couldn't let them go.

He could hear angry voices coming from the cabin, likely the three hunters trying to get themselves or each other out of the ropes he had tied them with. Castiel didn't feel sorry for them at all. He drew his blade.

It was foolish, to waste his failing powers, but he wanted these men to be scared when they died. Scared like Dean when they had buried him alive. He wanted—needed—them to feel that fear. So he manifested his power until his vessel was glowing in righteous anger and the shadows of his once magnificent wings swept behind him. Then he raised a hand and blew the door in.

The hunters looked up in terror and the screams started as Castiel stepped in the door, and raised his blade.

And one by one, the screams were cut off.

~~~~~~~~

Castiel somehow made it back to the hospital without crashing the Impala and carried Dean into the emergency room. The hunter was completely unconscious and suffering from shock by the time they got there and was so bad off that no one questioned what had happened to him before they loaded him onto a gurney and sped him off for treatment. When the doctors asked Castiel what had happened, he had simply shown them the FBI credentials Dean had made him and lied that Dean had been the victim of a killer and that the man responsible had been put to justice. Castiel thought Dean would have been proud that he hadn't even stuttered.

He then went up to the floor Sam was being kept on and Catherine the nurse smiled as she saw him walk by the desk. Her expression soon turned into a frown as she saw the blood on Castiel's clothing that he had forgotten about. His own wounds had healed by now—at least he could still heal himself—but Dean's blood, as well as the three hunters' still blotched his trench coat.

"What happened, are you all right?" Catherine asked him.

"I was just out in the woods. I found Sam's brother," Castiel told her simply. "He was…hunting with Sam. Injured. He's being taken care of now."

Catherine stared at him in shock for a moment then shook herself slightly. "So, he—he wasn't just hallucinating?"

"No," Castiel told her. "I need to tell him."

She nodded dumbly and Castiel strode down the hall, cleaning his clothes with his 'mojo' as he went so as not to alarm anyone else, and entered Sam's room.

The younger Winchester seemed to be resting, but his eyes shot open instantly when Castiel entered, searching the angel's face for the answer.

"Cas, did you find him? Is Dean okay?" he asked breathlessly.

Castiel smiled as he took the seat next to the bed. "I brought him back, Sam. They're treating him right now. I'll make sure you get to see him as soon as they're done."

Sam's eyes welled with tears of relief and he swiped at them with his good hand. "Thank you. Thank you, Cas."

Castiel nodded slightly, but felt oddly melancholy. How much longer was he going to be of any real use to the brothers who had become like his own family? Would he even have been able to rescue Dean if he hadn't had the little power left that he did now?

"What about Mark and the others?" Sam asked, somewhat anxiously.

Castiel shook his head. "You don't have to worry about them anymore."

Sam stared at him for a while before he nodded, seeming to see that Castiel didn't want to talk about it.

Castiel was grateful. He didn't regret killing the men, but that was part of the problem. He'd had time to think about it on the drive back. The rage he had felt when he saw what they had done to Dean, how they had broken Castiel's strong friend down into a sobbing wreck, had been stronger than any anger he had felt before. It was a human rage, and it scared him. He had killed those men without any regret simply because of what they did to the people he cared about. And not because he was following orders, but because he had thought they deserved to have justice met out for their cruel deeds. He had justified it by saying they had become monsters, but in reality they were still just humans. Cruel humans, but ones who had been driven to their deeds through false promises and foul play. Were they really as guilty as he had judged them earlier?

"Cas?"

The angel looked up to see Sam watching him worriedly and wondered how long he had been lost in thought.

"Are you alright?" the young man asked.

Castiel shook himself and forced a small smile, thinking it funny because that too was a very human thing to do. Or at least, a very Winchester thing. "I'm fine. Just wondering when they'll be finished with Dean."

Sam nodded, but watched him closely.

Castiel knew that eventually, he was going to have to admit how far he was truly falling.

~~~~~~~~

Castiel took Sam to see his brother as soon as he was told Dean was out of surgery, ignoring any and all protests. He finally got Catherine to give them a wheelchair to make the trip easier for Sam and she helped them find the room Dean was staying in, telling Sam the whole way that she was sorry no one believed him when he said his brother was still up there. To her credit, she never did ask Castiel what had actually happened, or how he had come to find Dean. Maybe she realized that she didn't really want the answer.

"Here's his room," she said, opening the door for them as Castiel pushed Sam's chair inside. She lingered a second then left.

Castiel pushed Sam's chair over to the bed and Sam's breath caught in his throat. Dean looked terrible. His whole face was bruised and held together with butterfly bandages, though someone had taken the time to wash the blood from his hair, and his injured leg was propped on a pillow. There were lumps of bandages under his hospital gown and his hands had been carefully wrapped and splinted from the damage he had caused himself trying to get out of the coffin. Anger flared anew in Castiel's chest, and suddenly he wasn't so remorseful about killing the hunters anymore.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, Castiel's anger and pain mirrored on his face. No, killing them had been the only thing he could have done. Now Sam and Dean could rest easy and recover knowing Mark wouldn't be looking for them. Of course that didn't mean that Zachariah wouldn't find some other gullible human, someone possibly even worse than Mark and his companions, to do the same.

Sam reached out his good hand to touch his brother's wrist, bypassing the bandaged hands. Dean stirred slightly, and his eyes cracked open with a start, his chest heaving a couple times before he realized where he was and who was with him. Castiel wondered how long that was going to be his reaction.

"S'mmy?" Dean slurred as he saw his brother sitting beside him.

Sam forced a smile. "Hey, jerk. You look like crap."

"You're crap, bitch," Dean whispered back, trying to pull one side of his mouth up in a smile, but his face was too swollen so it turned into a grimace. Sam relaxed though. This was at least familiar. Castiel was simply glad Dean seemed to be acting more like Dean and not the broken man he had pulled out of the ground. He had been afraid the hunter may not come back from that. But then, Dean and Sam both usually ended up surprising him.

"Water?" Dean asked, looking at Castiel. The angel reached for the pitcher by the bed and poured some water into a cup before helping Dean raise his head to drink it. Dean took several long swallows and then lay back as if even that small act had exhausted him. Sam watched him anxiously looking like he wanted to ask a thousand questions, but at the same time, couldn't bring himself to do so. His gaze kept returning to Dean's hands, seeing the blood seeping through the bandages at his finger tips and the way Dean tried to avoid watching Sam as he looked.

"What did they do to you, Dean?" Sam finally asked, the question soft, probing. Obviously wondering what new hell he was going to have to bring his brother back from this time. As if Hell itself hadn't been bad enough.

Dean was quiet for too long and by the time he turned back to Sam and forced a wry smile, it was obviously too fake. "Doesn't matter. It's over now, we're safe and I didn't say yes to Michael, I'd say we should call it a win and quit while we're ahead."

Sam wasn't satisfied with that answer, but he took it, probably knowing he wasn't going to get anything else, especially right now. Dean's eyes softened again and he reached out a clumsy, bandaged, hand to rest on the side of Sam's neck. "Why don't you go get some rest, kiddo. I'll be fine here."

Sam looked like he was going to protest, but he must really have been tired because he gave in easily. Castiel wondered if he had slept at all before he had seen Dean and figured he probably hadn't.

"Okay, but only if you promise to sleep as well," Sam told his brother.

"Sammy," Dean called as Castiel prepared to wheel Sam out.

"Yeah?"

"This wasn't your fault, you know," Dean told him. "It wasn't about your failure to tell me about the hunters who found out about the demon blood, this was all on Zachariah. In fact, if anyone's to blame, it's me since I'm the one they want to be the Michael sword or whatever the hell it is. So don't blame yourself, okay?"

Sam ducked his head and took a deep breath. "When are we ever gonna get a break, Dean?"

"I don't know, man," Dean said.

Castiel pushed Sam's chair to the door before Dean called him back.

"Cas?"

Castiel left Sam's side and returned to Dean's. "What is it, Dean?"

Dean looked up at him before flicking a quick gaze toward Sam who was watching them. The elder Winchester cleared his throat and said quietly. "Sorry for freaking out on you before."

Castiel shook his head. "Don't apologize. I imagine it couldn't have been a pleasant experience. You were justified in…freaking out."

Dean smiled slightly, but his eyes were still haunted. "Don't tell him." His eyes flicked toward his brother waiting by the door.

Castiel nodded and placed an awkward hand on Dean's shoulder before he turned to bring Sam back to his room. The younger Winchester crawled into the bed with Castiel's help and was asleep in seconds. Castiel watched him for a few minutes, before he took off to wander the hospital, waiting until he was needed again.

He called Bobby and explained everything that had happened. The older hunter was furious that he hadn't been told before, but Castiel assured him that Sam and Dean would be okay, even if the recovery would be a long one.

After that he went to the cafeteria and got a coffee—it was becoming a habit for him, and for some reason he craved something warm. While he was there, he began to hear stories circulating among hospital staff about the strange FBI agent who had carried an injured man into the hospital like he had weighed nothing and never gave a full explanation even though the injured man had most certainly been tortured.

Castiel knew the questions would come soon, maybe even with police involvement and that wasn't going to do them any good. They had to get out of there as soon as possible.

Neither Sam or Dean had life threatening injuries that would need professional care, so that night when the hospital was quieter, Castiel signed the brothers out under the noses of the hospital staff and loaded them into the Impala. Then he drove them back to Bobby's while Sam navigated for him and Dean slept in the backseat.

They got back to the salvage yard at dawn and Bobby was waiting for them with his typical greeting of "Idjits".

After Castiel had helped get the brothers situated and left them to Bobby's care, he left without explanation and flew to the woods nearby. He drew his angel blade and looked up.

"Zachariah, if you want me, come and get me, you bastard! We have things to discuss!"

But the angel never showed, and Castiel was left with a pit in his stomach, knowing that Mark had only been the beginning of some new scheme Zachariah had cooked up and Castiel was determined to make sure he was one step ahead. Perhaps Mark and the others would be a warning that no one hurt the Winchesters while Castiel was around.


	6. Chapter 6

The recovery process was difficult. Bobby, being in a wheelchair was hardly capable of taking care of the Winchester brothers himself, and Dean could do nothing but lay in bed with his injured leg, unable to use crutches with his ruined hands. In fact, he couldn't do much of anything with his hands bandaged and splinted as they were. Sam helped him the best he could, but he only had one good hand and couldn't do any heavy lifting with his broken ribs, so Castiel did everything Sam couldn't and somehow he managed to nurse both the brothers back to health. He spoon fed Dean and made sure his bullet wound was clean and freshly bandaged every day. He washed Sam's hair in the sink and helped him dress with the clunky cast covering his left arm. He did all this and more, trying to make sure the brothers didn't feel humiliated by their weakness, but simply acted as a caretaker, just another brother, who didn't say a word when they needed his help even with the more humiliating things like bathing and calls of nature. Castiel just wanted them to feel comfortable, he just wanted to do something to help. He was unable to heal them like he would before, so he did everything he could to make them better the only way he was able now.

But the thing he realized most while nursing the brothers was that humanity was anything but glamorous. In fact, it was the exact opposite. It was filthy and hard and Castiel didn't know how any humans survived to adulthood. He would never have thought of it before, but now with his failing grace, with his power slipping a little more by the day, he realized that, eventually, this is what he had to look forward to. He had no delusions that he would still be an angel in the following years; Dean had seen as much when he went to the future, and even if they managed to stop the apocalypse and kept everything else Dean had seen from happening, it wouldn't keep Castiel from turning human. That had already been set in motion and was an inevitability that he was going to have to learn to cope with. The thought that he could one day be bedridden with injures taken in a fight, so helpless that he needed someone to feed him by hand, made him sick. How would he do it? He may have been an Angel of the Lord, but he had never been human, and he wasn't sure he could survive the things he had seen Sam and Dean go through over the couple years he had known them. He wasn't entirely certain he was strong enough in that regard. How did one simply learn to be human and how to deal with all the problems that came with it? He supposed he should be grateful that he was falling as slowly as he was so he had time to prepare. Of course, the constant pondering might very well make it worse after all.

Sam was recovering well, and eating normally again, starting to gain back some of the weight he had lost after his last demon blood detox. Dean was pretending he was fine, but he still woke up almost every night, sometimes more than once, gasping for breath and thrashing against his blankets even though Castiel was careful to spread them over him only lightly. It was going to take him a long time to get over being buried alive. Sometimes, even though Dean would never ask for it himself, Castiel left the lamp on for him at night and it seemed to help for Dean not to wake up in the dark.

Sam had noticed his suffering, obviously, and he probably suspected what had happened, but Sam never mentioned it to Dean either. It seemed to be a silent understanding between the brothers.

On the other hand, the one good thing that seemed to come from this tragedy was that Sam and Dean had grown closer again, probably closer than they had been the entire time Castiel had known them. He had never doubted Sam and Dean's love for each other, but their relationship had undeniably been strained with the events of the past couple years what with Ruby and the demon blood and Sam seeming to insist that Dean was broken now that he had come back from Hell. Castiel knew the truth of that. Dean had been broken, but Castiel suspected his lack of conviction or whatever he wanted to call it was simply a product of being sickened by violence of any kind after what he had been forced to do for Alastair. Dean was afraid to go back to that mindset, and Castiel again cringed at the memory of forcing the hunter to torture Alastair for them. Again, he realized it was a good thing that he had killed Mark and the others so that Dean didn't have to. Killing humans had never been to Dean's taste, no matter how monstrous they might be.

The brothers barely left each others' sides in their convalescence, talking and even laughing together. Castiel even joined in, and he helped Bobby prepare meals, which he tasted, sitting around the table with the brothers once Dean was able to move from his bed, and it felt good. It felt like what Castiel understood family to be, and the fallen angel realized with some melancholy and maybe even a little shame, that he truly felt at home here with the Winchesters in their broken little family that Dean liked to call Team Free Will. Castiel hadn't felt like he belonged anyplace in years, maybe even decades, as much as he did there with the Winchesters.

But that also meant he had more to lose in the coming war. If either of the brothers ended up saying yes to Michael or Lucifer after everything, he felt it would break him. He had so much faith in his newfound family that he couldn't stand to have it broken. Not after everything he had already lost.

Sam and Dean were healing by the day. He had finally been able to take the splints off Dean's hands and though they still looked terrible, and he had a couple missing fingernails, it meant he could at least start to do more himself, which made Dean happy. He still wasn't allowed to drive with his leg though, so Castiel went out shopping for Bobby in town, picking up much needed supplies and food. He even got Dean pie, because he knew the elder brother would ask.

Castiel didn't sense anything wrong when he got back to Bobby's. He brought the groceries into the kitchen and started putting them away when he began to realize it was too quiet in the house—to talking, no television in the background—and he felt the prickle between his shoulder blades that told him someone was watching him. He casually closed the refrigerator door as he heard a footstep behind him in the doorway and let his angel blade slide down his sleeve into his hand as he turned.

"Hello, Castiel. I know you called before, but I was busy then. You still want to talk?"

Castiel froze as he saw Zachariah standing there with Sam. He had a fistful of the young man's hair and was pricking the underside of his throat with his angel blade. Castiel stood his ground, but didn't try to look threatening. He wouldn't risk Sam.

"I do want to talk, Zachariah, but not here. I will not allow you to hurt Sam and Dean anymore."

Zachariah seemed to find him amusing, grinning. "You won't allow me? Castiel, I don't think you fully appreciate your situation. You are nothing but a gnat to me, I should take a flyswatter to you and your incessant buzzing. He just doesn't know when to stop, does he?" He chuckled and jostled Sam in a false show of good-natured teasing before he finally released the hunter who stepped back and glared at the angel. "You want to talk, Castiel? We talk here. End this now."

He moved to the study and Castiel followed, seeing Dean sitting on the couch, rigidly, and Bobby close by in his chair, glaring daggers at the pompous angel. Sam leaned against the wall, watching worriedly.

"So Castiel, what did you want to talk about?" Zachariah asked, looking with disdain around the room, wiping a finger over a bookshelf and inspecting it for dust, wrinkling his nose.

"I wanted to talk about Mark, Zachariah," Castiel told him.

Zachariah raised his eyebrows. "Oh him? Didn't you hear? He's dead. Not nearly as effective as I had hoped though it does look like he put his best foot forward." He glanced pointedly at Sam and Dean's injuries, but shrugged. "Just can't get good help these days."

"I may have been the one cast out of heaven," Castiel said in a low voice. "But you do not conduct yourself as an angel either, Zachariah. You turn to humans to do your dirty work, giving them offers they couldn't refuse and making them torture other human beings!" His anger was rising, and his hand tightened around his blade so that his knuckles whitened. "What game are you playing?"

"What game? It's the end of the world, Castiel. Wake up! I'm just trying to get results, it's not my fault these two mud monkeys are too dense to realize what's really going on here and that they have the chance of a lifetime to stop it." He shook his head in mock sadness. "Kids these days, am I right? Some of them just need a firmer hand." He raised his hand and made it into a fist. Sam and Dean both choked and dropped to the floor, doubling up as they vomited blood.

"You son of a bitch," Bobby snarled at Zachariah as he raised a shotgun he had grabbed from behind the couch at the angel, even though it would do no good. Zachariah instantly sent the weapon flying across the room.

"Stop this, Zachariah!" Castiel shouted, Sam and Dean's gagging whimpers filling his head.

"I'm sorry, how rude of me, the punishment should be shared, of course." Zachariah released Sam and Dean only to direct the torture at Castiel. The angel suddenly felt like his insides were being ripped out his throat and he collapsed to his hands and knees, choking up blood. It tasted so coppery, so real, so…mortal. He watched it drip onto the floor, momentarily transfixed as Zachariah strode forward and grabbed Castiel by his coat lapel.

"You're barely half of an angel now, aren't you?" Zachariah sneered. "And you think you have the strength to defeat me, you mewling wretch?" He shook Castiel, his other hand gripping the lesser angel's tie. "I will say I much prefer you on your knees, Castiel. That is where you belong. In supplication to your betters."

Castiel met his eyes with cold blue ones. "I would be wary of saying you're actually my better, Zachariah."

He reclaimed his blade and swung it up, catching Zachariah across the ribs with it. The other angel jerked back with genuine shock and allowed his own blade to drop into his hand, touching his other to the bleeding wound before looking at Castiel with pure rage. "You little bastard."

Castiel rose slowly, wiping blood from his mouth. "I would suggest you leave, Zachariah."

Zachariah just looked vaguely amused. "I would suggest you beg me for mercy."

Zachariah lunged at Castiel with his blade, but Castiel ducked swiftly, and blocked the blow. He may not have been stronger than Zachariah, but he had always been a better fighter. He took a blow across the face with Zachariah's pommel, but spun with a determined snarl and struck out. He managed a glancing blow to Zachariah's right forearm before the more powerful angel looped his arm around Castiel's and threw him to the ground hard. Castiel felt the air leave his body. He rolled to get to his feet, but Zachariah grabbed the back of his coat and hauled him halfway up as he began to deliver heavy kicks to Castiel's midsection.

"You will learn your place, maggot!" Zachariah snarled, emphasizing each word with a blow. Castiel gasped as he felt ribs crack but his scrabbling hand finally found his blade again and slashed at Zachariah's leg as his attacker drew back for another kick. The more powerful angel hissed and picked Castiel up with both hands, flinging him across the room into the fireplace. Castiel felt several hearthstones crack at the force and he landed in a pile of fire pokers, gasping in agony.

"Cas!" Dean called in alarm, trying to get up to help him as he retrieved the angel's dropped blade.

"Shut up, Dean," Zachariah snapped, waving a dismissive hand at the elder Winchester who's eyes rolled up into his head and he instantly collapsed in a heap.

Castiel tried to force himself onto his elbows, groaning in pain, as Zachariah strode over to him.

"You were always defiant," the angel said in disdain as he reached down and picked Castiel up by the throat, choking him. "Never could learn obedience, no matter how many times I tried to drill it into your thick skull." He threw Castiel up and the weakened angel hit the ceiling before slamming back into the floor in a shower of plaster. He gasped, struggling to move, tasting blood again, though wasn't sure where it had come from this time.

Zachariah kicked him onto his back and straddled him, crouching down and grabbing a fistful of his shirt, shaking his head. "I'm tired of you, Castiel. I think it's finally time I just get rid of you." He brought his blade dangerously close to Castiel's throat. "But nice and slow, so you human pets can hear you scream."

Castiel caught Sam's eye as the younger man waved to him behind Zachariah's back. He was holding Castiel's blade and had blood dripping down his hand. He flicked his eyes down to the sigil he had painted on the floor next to him. Castiel understood and gave him a nod back.

"I'm not gonna lie, Castiel, I'm going to enjoy this," Zachariah was saying with a leer as he readied his blade to begin the torture, pulling open the first couple buttons of Castiel's shirt.

Sam threw the dagger to Castiel who caught it and slammed it into Zachariah's shoulder. The angel screamed in pain, as Castiel ripped his blade free and kicked Zachariah away from him before flinging himself across the room toward Sam and slamming his hand down on the banishing sigil Sam and painted on the floor. Zachariah didn't even know what hit him before he disappeared in a burst of light.

Castiel slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, his whole body singing with pain. "Thank you, Sam," he said.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked worriedly, wincing as he started to stand up and offered his good hand to Castiel. The angel took it and forced himself to his feet, trying not to take Sam back down with him.

"I'll live," the angel replied as he staggered over to Dean who was still lying on the floor as Bobby tried to rouse him. Castiel crouched and put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"He's just unconscious," he assured the others. Dean was already stirring, and his eyes opened with a groan, flicking over everyone's faces before they landed on Castiel.

"Cas? You okay? What happened?"

"I believe you would say that I had the crap beaten out of me," Castiel deadpanned. "But Zachariah's gone for now."

Dean groaned as he attempted to sit up against the side of the couch. "Yeah, and he's probably gonna be even more pissed at you when he comes back."

"Let him," Castiel said firmly. "He's not going to take me that easily."

Dean gave him a small smile at that, then clutched his injured leg that must have been jostled in the excitement. "Uh, help me back onto the couch?"

Sam and Castiel both gave him a hand and all three of them sank down onto the couch. Castiel leaned back and closed his eyes briefly, feeling his grace sluggishly healing his abused body. It was not as swift as it should have been. At this rate it might take him a couple days to recover fully.

"You alright, son?" Bobby asked him, staring pointedly. "You took one hell of a beating."

"I'll be fine," Castiel replied. "I just need to rest for a while to allow my grace to heal my vessel unhindered."

"You don't have to go anywhere, Cas," Sam told him kindly.

"We should put up warding on the house," Castiel said, starting to get up despite the pain that shot through him at the movement. "Zachariah might try to come back."

"I can do that, you idjits just sit down and rest. I'm not completely useless, you know," Bobby told them gruffly, rolling his wheelchair over to the desk where he pulled out a pen and paper. "Just show me what to do."

Castiel drew several sigils for Bobby and the older hunter went off to ward the house as the rest of them just sat on the couch. Castiel slumped further until his head was resting on the back cushion, which felt extremely comfortable at that moment as he closed his eyes again.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean inquired.

Castiel opened his eyes, feeling vaguely annoyed to be disturbed. "Yes, Dean?"

"I'm glad you're on our side, because you can be a scary son of a bitch when you're facing someone down," the older Winchester told him.

Castiel allowed himself to smile. "Well, I believe you would call that 'faking it'."

Dean and Sam both laughed. "Well, still man, I'm glad you're part of our family," Dean told him sincerely, reaching out to clap a hand to Castiel's shoulder. Sam nodded in agreement.

Castiel didn't know what to reply. He just smiled at the two brothers—his brothers too, he supposed—and settled back on the couch to rest as he listened to the familiar chatter around him and felt a calm wash over him. He supposed that the prospect of turning human wasn't nearly so bad to think about when he had the promise of a new family to turn to.

He opened his eyes again and glance over at Dean. "By the way, Dean, I remembered the pie."

Sam laughed and Dean grinned. "You're the best, Cas."

Warmth seeped into Castiel's aching chest. For the first time in a long while, he truly felt at home.

The End


End file.
